Weekly Provisions
by MirandaHAA
Summary: This story is set a few months after the Christmas 2012 episode, when Thomas is still seen as a good guy after saving Jimmy from being beaten up. Jos Tufton tries his luck with Mrs Patmore again, little does he know that his assistant has his eye on the under butler. And little does the Abbey household know that another attacker is lurking...
1. Chapter 1

Weekly Provisions Chapter 1

This story is set a few months after the Christmas 2012 episode, when Thomas is still seen as a good guy after saving Jimmy from being beaten up. I was going to leave it as a one shot but as usual, changed my mind and will make it a longer story.

##########

Chapter One

"Oh, you again," said Mrs Patmore at the kitchen door.

"Will you let me in?" said Jos Tufton, wiping his brow, as the day was very warm.

"If you like." She turned away, back to the stove.

"I've got your latest order, my dear. Fred?" Tufton beckoned his new assistant, a brown haired lad, forward with a box of vegetables.

"Don't you 'my dear' me! I had enough of your cheek at the fair." She stirred the mixture in the bowl forcefully, and Daisy and Ivy backed away, exchanging glances.

"But all I meant was—"

Then she let him have it, shouting at him as she moved away with the bowl, and he followed at a distance, bowing his head meekly.

Hearing the shouting, Alfred looked in through the window from the passageway. Mrs Patmore stomped briskly round the kitchen, preparing, supervising, criticising the girls' cooking. As Tufton followed her, it looked as if they were dancing. Every time she moved, he tried to intercept, then she would dodge him, and it would all start over again.

Alfred tried to suppress a smile, then a laugh, but he couldn't. Fortunately, the 'dancing' couple were so caught up in their argument, they didn't notice the helplessly laughing footman. Fred stood in the corner of the kitchen, in much the same state as Alfred.

"What's going on here?" said a voice, and Alfred jumped as Thomas appeared beside him. "You're supposed to be helping with the—"

"Can't it wait a minute?" Alfred nodded towards the scene in front of him.

"You're a racketeer trying to double cross me!" shouted Mrs Patmore, waving a wooden spoon at Tufton, who retreated.

Alfred and Thomas exchanged glances.

"Racketeer? Double cross?" said Thomas, grinning.

"She's been to the pictures too much," laughed Alfred. "She thinks she's a gangster's moll." He caught sight of Fred, who was examining his fingernails. At that moment, he glanced up and rolled his eyes at Alfred, then saw Thomas and stared.

Thomas was chuckling away to himself at the scene of Tufton chasing Mrs Patmore round the kitchen yet again, until Alfred nudged him.

"I think you've got an admirer, Mr Barrow."

Thomas paused mid laugh. "What?"

Alfred nodded towards Fred. Although the thought of men being together repulsed him, Mr Barrow was a good sort really and couldn't help being that way.

Thomas eyed the young man, who blushed the colour of the beetroot in the box on the table next to him.

"Get out!" shouted Mrs Patmore, making everyone jump. "Give me some room to move!" She shook the spoon at Tufton. "You're nothing but a spiv!" Her spoon connected with his head, and he stepped back smartly.

The accusation, or maybe the spoon attack, was too much for Tufton. He turned to Fred.

"What're you standing there for, you lazy lummox!" He shouted. "Bring in the rest of the order for this lovely lady!"

Mrs Patmore gave a loud "huh!" as she turned her back on him and began beating some eggs to death in a bowl.

Fred shuffled towards the door, head down, but at the last minute, he glanced back at Thomas before disappearing outside.

Thomas bit his lip, and looked at Alfred.

"Go on," said the footman. "That's what girls do when they want you to follow them."

"But—"

Alfred sighed. "Go on!" And firmly turned back to the scene in the kitchen.

##########

Outside, Thomas watched Fred unloading the Tuftons' van for a moment. Slight but muscular, he observed.

"You gonna help me or just stand there?" Fred called over his shoulder as he struggled with a crate of potatoes.

Thomas leapt forward and caught the edge of the crate as it dropped.

"Don't know why me dad thinks I can lift all this stuff," grumbled Fred. "He thinks it'll make a man of me or something."

"Tufton's your dad?" Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, more's the pity."

Thomas wondered how on earth the square, red faced grocer could be related to this elfin, tawny youth.

"Luckily, I take after me mam." Fred smiled.

"I'm Thomas." He held out his hand.

"Fred."

They held onto each other's hands a fraction longer than customary, as icy grey eyes met warm brown ones.

"Cigarette?" Thomas got two out of his pocket.

"Don't mind if I do."

Thomas lit them both and they stood there companionably for a while, smoke curling upwards. Then stamping footsteps made them leap apart guiltily, and busy themselves lifting boxes off the van.

"How long does it take to unload a few crates of food?" thundered Tufton, wiping his sweating brow. "You're idle, daydreaming your life away—"

Thomas stood up from the box he'd been lifting, and glared at the grocer, who hadn't seen him behind it.

"So, you can't even do it yourself? You have to get someone to help?" The man shouted at his son, who avoided his eyes. "You'll never make anything of yourself, you—"

"I offered," interrupted Thomas, in his coldest voice. "I could see he was struggling."

Tufton paused. "And you are?"

"Mr Barrow. Under butler around here."

Tufton turned to his son. "You—you—What's the good lady cook going to say when she finds out you've wormed your way into getting a member of the household staff to help you with—"

"Mr Tufton." Thomas loomed over the grocer, his face impassive and his eyes hard. "It was my decision. Either help us or bugger off."

The man cowered and backed away. "You wait til Mrs Patmore hears of this, she'll tell Lord Grantham."

They watched him go, looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

"Thanks," said Fred. "So, you are THE Mr Barrow?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Lots of rumours about you in the village."

"Like what?" Thomas frowned for a split second, then quickly made his expression blank.

"Like, the police were called about you last summer, and you took a beating from robbers at the fair to save another man." He watched for a reaction.

Thomas concentrated on stubbing out his cigarette on the brickwork. Then, with a force born of decades of thwarted ambition, he leapt forward and pushed Fred against the wall.

"Don't you ever, ever repeat that! You can tell your little mates I'm innocent of all that." He glared into his eyes.

"Oh." Fred sagged and his glance dropped. "It's just that—some—some of us think—think that—"

"Think what? Spit it out!" Thomas felt like he was holding a sack of potatoes, all the rigidity had gone out of Fred's body.

"You fought off the police and the robbers, you're kind of a hero." His russet coloured eyes flicked up to meet his captor's.

"Hero? Never been called that before." He let go of him and retreated to light another cigarette.

Fred rearranged his collar. "Yes. People gossip in the village—if you live at the Abbey, you can't do nothing without it being talked about. The constable let slip about the—er—police visit, and rumours started, then when you went to protect that footman, some of us put two and two together."

"So now what? You think you can blackmail me?"

There was a long pause.

"No. I was—just saying, that's all."

"You don't just say something like that. If you're going to cause trouble for me—"

"Forget about it. Forget I said anything. Sorry."

"So who are these people I'm a hero to?"

"Well—er—just—me, I suppose." Fred blushed like a beetroot again.

Thomas smiled. "You are a funny boy."

"I'm not a boy! I'm over twenty one, a man in law!"

"Are you now."

The kitchen door banged and Tufton came striding out. "Come on, you lazy lummox! Plenty more deliveries today!"

Thomas stepped out to stand next to Fred.

"Oh, Mr Barrow, sir, you still here?" The grocer avoided looking at him. "Er—come along Fred, dear son, come along."

"Mrs Patmore not going to tell the Earl about my behaviour then?" Thomas said smoothly.

Tufton turned away and took Fred's arm but he shook it off.

"Just a minute, Dad. I'm talking to my friend."

"Your friend? I don't think—"

"If I'm to take over the grocery deliveries, I need to be on good terms with my customers." He glared at his father, who retreated, muttering.

"So, you'll be delivering from now on?" Thomas couldn't suppress a smile.

"Yes. I think I shall. I will see you next week, Mr Barrow." He smiled broadly and sauntered to the van.

########

Thomas went back into the Abbey, not quite sure what had just happened, but feeling a slight thawing of his frozen heart. Mrs Patmore beckoned him into the kitchen and delivered a lecture on not saying 'bugger off' to the delivery men, but she had a twinkle in her eye.

"It looks like that man's son is taking over the deliveries," she finished. "About time too, that man is an insult to the grocers' trade."

Thomas grinned. "You're not wrong there." He set off back to his duties and as he walked by the stairs, Jimmy sauntered down them, straightening his jacket.

"What was all that shouting?" he asked. "Did I miss out on something?"

Thomas grinned, wondering what he'd ever seen in him.

"Yes. You did."


	2. Chapter 2

Weekly Provisions Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The next week, Thomas tried not to hang around the kitchen to see what happened when the next grocery delivery came. He'd imagined scenarios in his head already: either Tufton would turn up with the order, his son mysteriously occupied elsewhere. Or Fred would arrive and completely ignore him.

He sighed. He should get on with his work and not get caught up in fantasies. But he had to make sure his imaginings were right.

He lurked in the hall by the kitchen, smoking and fending off questions from nearly everyone, then when he'd had enough of them, went outside. He'd almost used up his daily ration of cigarettes in one morning, and felt a rush of optimism as the fresh air hit him.

At last the Tufton van rattled round the corner and jerked to a halt. Thomas retreated behind the wall, where he could see the driver hop out and go to the back to start carrying in the boxes. It was Fred. Thomas smiled with relief, but had to find out the truth, so chucked away his cigarette and stepped out of his hiding place.

"Want help with those?" His confident voice belied his shaky interior.

Fred smiled. "Oh no, an under butler shouldn't lower himself to manual work." He hefted the crate against him, still smiling. "You can get the door if you want."

Obediently, Thomas held the kitchen door for him, bowing his head slightly. "Is this satisfactory for sir?"

"Oh yes, Barrow, very good." Fred laughed, squeezing through the door with the crate. Thomas followed and after helping him through the other doors, they reached the kitchen.

"Ah there you are. Is your father here too?" asked Mrs Patmore, rolling up her sleeves.

"No, I'm delivering here now." Fred put the crate down on the table.

"And what are you doing?" she questioned Thomas, looking up at him.

"I'm—er—supervising. These delivery men can't be trusted." He bit his tongue the minute he said it. But Fred had already gone out to fetch the next box.

"Well what're you standing round here for then? Off you go." She gestured to him to follow Fred so he did.

Outside, Fred seemed to have disappeared, but crashes from inside the van made Thomas peer round the door. There he was, looking from box to box, sorting out which items were for which household.

"I think I've mucked up the deliveries," he said, biting his lip.

"I'll have a look." Thomas climbed up into the back.

"My dad never labels the bloody boxes, he just puts a funny mark on them, I don't know what they all mean." He looked helplessly from crate to crate.

Thomas felt useless, he had even less of an idea what the symbols meant.

"Don't touch me!" shrieked a voice outside, making them both jump.

"But Ivy! I only meant to—"

Thomas frowned. That was Jimmy's voice.

"Get off!" shrieked Ivy.

Before Thomas could do anything, Fred had leapt out of the van with a crate, making its suspension bounce.

"Everything alright here?" he said.

"None of your business, grocer!" snapped Jimmy. Thomas was dying to peek out of the van to see what was going on, but he daren't let Jimmy see him, that would be asking for trouble.

"You can help me with these boxes then," Fred continued, and there was a grunt as he must have shoved the crate at Jimmy.

The slam of the kitchen door must mean that Ivy had flounced back inside.

"Come on, Mrs Patmore will be waiting." Fred sounded so bossy and Jimmy was grumbling to himself. Thomas chuckled, and when he'd heard the door go again, climbed slowly out of the van.

######

Back in the warm kitchen, Mrs Patmore was fussing round, telling Fred and Jimmy where to put everything. When Thomas strolled in, Jimmy was standing around sulking, Fred was doing as he was told and Ivy was giggling flirtatiously with him.

Thomas stood in the doorway observing for a moment.

"I'll just get the last box, Mrs Patmore," said Fred, and walked towards the door. Thomas did not move, so he had to squeeze past him a bit, and as Jimmy and Ivy had started fussing the minute Fred left, they didn't see the exaggerated wink he gave Thomas.

After Fred had left, Thomas turned his thoughts back to his own plans—enough time wasting—and sought out Baxter, who was in the sewing room, using the new-fangled machine Mrs Patmore disapproved of.

"So," he said, looming over her. "What news do you have for me today?"

She gave him a quick glance. "Only that they're holding a party for Lady Mary's birthday soon."

"With lots of posh guests?"

"Of course."

"Hm." His mind worked away. "Possibilities."

#######

At the party, Thomas glided around being as helpful and charming as possible, listening to everyone's comments, observing their behaviour. The usual guests were there: Lord Gillingham, Sir John Bullock, Lord Napier and various ladies who all looked the same to him. He kept an eye on Carson, always ready to outshine the butler, who to his eyes was looking older by the minute. Thomas felt a surge of energy lifting him as he served drinks and food, he didn't recognise the feeling but it was certainly helping him to work better.

Going downstairs for more drinks, he heard a weeping sound coming from the housekeeper's room. He paused uncertainly but curiosity won and he peeked round the door: Ivy the kitchen maid was sitting there with Baxter, crying.

"What's the matter?" he asked and Baxter looked up, shock on her face.

"Ivy's been attacked! But she managed to escape before—before—" She didn't need to finish the sentence.

"What? When?"

"Just now. Get a glass of water."

He went to fetch one, his mind racing. Ivy attacked? The memory of the conversation he'd overheard between Jimmy and Ivy last week entered his mind and wouldn't leave. Jimmy wouldn't do that, would he? He took the water back to the room and handed it to Ivy.

"Th—thanks." She sipped it.

"So, who was it?" he demanded.

"Give her a minute!" snapped Baxter.

"I can't tell you anyway," quavered Ivy. "He said he'll hurt me if I do."


End file.
